


Bed of Roses

by BeetleQueen



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Accidental love ensues, Basically a bastardisation of Pretty Woman even though I’ve never seen that movie, Further ships to come up in later chapters, M/M, Not the vanilla type bdsm we’re talking pissing in mouths here people, Rose pays Piers to tie him up and spank him 50 shades of rosy red, Some elements of bdsm here and there, cookies if you can guess who, this pairing started out mainly as a crack ship but now I’m invested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeetleQueen/pseuds/BeetleQueen
Summary: (READ THE TAGS)Rose makes Piers an offer he can’t refuse. Piers, all out of money and shame, agrees.But no one told him about these complicated feelings he’s suddenly having for a man he’s paid to humiliate
Relationships: Nezu | Piers/Rose | Chairman Rose
Comments: 97
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

Piers is in the elevator that’s currently scaling Rose Tower.

The Chairman has summoned him. A rare occurrence. Piers wonders if he has time to light a cigarette and set the smoke alarm off.

The elevator stops with a ding, and Piers is greeted by an impassive frown, Oleana appearing as soon as the doors open.

“Piers.” She motions for him to follow her. Pointless really, because there’s only one door at the end of this hallway.

Why does he suddenly feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter..?

Piers waits by the door as Oleana pokes her head in.

“Mister Chairman?”

Rose doesn’t answer right away. But when he does it’s with the usual exuberance and pomp; though he can’t see him, the rocker from Spikemuth can practically hear a smile curling at his lips.

“Well, send him through!” Piers begrudging enters the room, fights not to roll his eyes when he sees that stupid smile, and promptly startles when the door snaps shut behind him. Oleana isn’t sticking around, strangely. “Piers! So good to see you! Please, take a seat, take a seat.”

Piers begrudgingly does that too.

“Tea?”

“Pass.” Piers puts his cigarette to his lips, he’s testing the man now. Desperate for a reaction.

Rose slides an ashtray across the table. Piers lights his cigarette anyway, staring daggers.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here.” Rose continues to smile that amiable smile. The one that makes his skin crawl. Piers doesn’t answer, deliberately flicks some ash onto that polished mahogany table.

“It’s... come to my attention that you’ve been spotted lately in the middle of the night with— how should I put this,” Rose looks troubled as if trying to find a way to sugarcoat his next words, “more than one suitor?”

Piers feels a sudden flash of disgust. Suddenly he’s back there in that alley. Hands roaming, grabbing, forcing— “I’m being spied on, you mean, Chairman?”

“I can assure you, that couldn’t be further from the truth.” Rose pauses, plays with that wisp of hair in front of his eyes. Piers continues to glare at him, unblinking. “But what you’re doing is—“ Rose pauses again. “Indiscreet to say the least.”

“Tough.” Piers flicks another column of ash, this time onto the carpet.

Rose still doesn’t react. Doesn’t tell him off. That frown line between Piers’ eyebrows deepens.

Something to be said for being a cat person, he thinks. Rose probably has a higher threshold for mindless destruction, and from far peskier creatures than Piers.

He thinks on Rose’s words. Perhaps five men in one alley had been rather stupid of him. He went willingly after all—

“Piers that kind of work can be dangerous.” Rose is staring in a very odd way all of a sudden. “You must know that.”

“What can I say, I like to live dangerously...” Piers mumbles around his cigarette, takes a drag and actually uses the ashtray this time. “It reflects badly on you — on the brand; that’s what you’re trying to say, yes?”

Rose gives him that look again. He’s not even sure what it means, but Piers wants to slap it off his face.

The chairman plays with his hair, eyes furtive and downcast.

“Not... exactly.”

Piers makes a face. And it’s a frustrated ‘just fucking spit it out already’ face.

“Piers, do these men pay you?”

The gym leader of Spikemuth feels his gorge rise. Feels his heart begin to hammer, and his guts fight to keep from dropping out. Is he going to prison..? Who will look after Marnie?!

_“Yes.”_

He lights a second cigarette, the first not having lasted all that long under the circumstances.

“Is that a crime?” He knows it is; is talking now to fill the heavy silence between the two of them.

“Piers, you’re not in trouble, if that’s what you think.” The Chairman takes a seat then. “But I have to ask that you stop this instant.”

Piers needs the money. He can’t stop, not without the landlord cutting the power again next month.

It’s winter. Marnie will get cold.

“Piers, I’m not asking you—“

“You’re **telling** me. I get it.”

“No—?“

“Then _what?!”_ Piers is standing, cutting an imposing figure despite his wiry frame, and sunken face. “You brought me here for a reason Chairman, so **say** it!”

Rose taps his fingertips together, maintains eye contact before very quietly he whispers, _“I can pay you more...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, Piers think of all the eyeliner you could buy... 👀


	2. Chapter 2

Not the face. That’s the cardinal rule; Rose’s only rule in fact.

Piers hadn’t taken very long to agree. Slap Rose around? Better yet, slap Rose around and get a sizeable wedge of cash for his troubles?

“Do I need to sign something..?” Piers asks — makes a point to gaze up at the chairman through his eyelashes. Rose clears his throat. Fusses with his hair. Piers feels a pang of excitement at the prospect of such easy money. “I’m joking. Why would you want that paper trail?”

Oleana is soon escorting him back to the lift, Rose having summoned her with just two taps of his phone.

Piers leans against the wall as soon as the doors close. Breathes deep.

One client. One very rich and powerful client.

Maybe he should’ve said he’d think about it...

* * *

“Given any more thought about being gym leader?” Piers angles, chuckling when his little sister slams her cutlery down on the table, face blank and staring.

“I’m going to be champion, you know.”

“Yeah?”

_“Yes.”_

Piers flicks a pea at her. Puts his hands up when she flies out of her chair and marches over to sock him in the arm.

“Wow. So strong...” He rubs the spot where she smacked him. “Champion material...”

“Exactly. Leon’s not going to know what hit him.”

”You’re going to punch him in _his_ wanking arm too, are you?”

Marnie calms down after dinner. There was a reason Piers had caught her a Morpeko in particular. Marnie also went into ‘hangry mode’...

There isn’t enough dessert for the both of them, so Piers is sliding a slice of cake across the table. He smiles watching her polish it off in no time at all. She’s a growing kid — and he can do without.

Has gone without for longer than he can remember, really.

“You’re not joking about this champion thing, are you?”

“No.”

He’s already made his choice to retire after this year’s challenge. Constantly rotating his team, and keeping them from meeting their full potential... it’s not fair. Piers doesn’t like the idea of catching more just to put them into play when his old team outgrows the opposition.

Doesn’t like the idea of doing this for another ten years. Or longer.

Honestly, he doesn’t know how Kabu and Opal do it.

Piers was made for sleeping past noon. Made for hastily writing down lyrics on napkins or coasters, and, as most who’d bedded him would attest to — Piers was made for fucking.

And if Marnie isn’t going to take over, he’ll make sure she becomes champion. If it’s what she really wants...

And if the worst should happen and she does fail, he’ll always be here to cushion that fall from grace.

And remind her she can take over from him as the gym leader, by the way...

He’s passing her a letter of endorsement later that day. And when Marnie is fast asleep and tucked up in bed, Piers creeps out in the dead of night to the nearest pub.

Half an hour later, Team Yell is formed under his strict instruction.

His sister will be champion, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way of that.

* * *

Piers had expected to leave the first session cum-stained and stinking of regret. But paid handsomely.

Except Rose hasn’t asked to fuck him, and it’s... a relief if he’s honest.

Either Rose is his first client with actual patience, or he’s playing some kind of twisted waiting game.

Though inexperienced — and learning, Piers acts with the confident air of a person who knows exactly what they’re doing. Something Rose appreciates.

He stares down at the chairman — their third encounter now — at the candle wax now hardening in that thicket of chest hair.

Said chest begins to rise and fall a little quicker with each red hot drop of wax. Piers huffs out a little laugh. Huffs another, louder this time when a certain part of Rose throbs visibly.

Rose is blindfolded and squirming, his head lolling to one side as Piers walks a lazy circle around him, heels clacking.

“You’ve been a very, **very** , bad boy...” He feels like a fool saying it; feels blood born from embarrassment rush to his cheeks seconds later before wrapping round the backs of his ears and neck.

It doesn’t matter, Rose can’t see him. And Rose pays upfront, so Piers will say what he wants him to.

“What to do, what to do...” Piers hums. He comes to a stop at Rose’s feet. Taps a booted foot in mock impatience. Then lifts that foot until the stiletto heel is pressing against the other man’s erection.

There’s a swell of satisfaction when Rose cries out. He presses a little harder, waiting for the safe word.

It doesn’t come, and so Piers continues. Rose’s hips are rocking slightly, enjoying every second. There’s a brief flash of pity mixed with the usual disgust Piers has for this man.

He wonders why Rose isn’t asking Oleana to do this; she does everything else that he asks.

And she certainly has the ice cold disposition...

Piers wonders also why he has to dress up at all if Rose is going to lay there with that blindfold on. It’s getting late, and the corset he’s laced into is starting to pinch. The things we do for money. Lots of money—

Rose is choking out the safe word, and so Piers relents. Laughs. The crueler he is, the more he makes the following session.

It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

* * *

Session eight. The chairman is on his knees, and really it’s a good look for him.

Piers thrusts into that obedient hand, hips working faster and fingers gripping as much of Rose’s hair as he can muster.

When he comes it’s all over that beard in thick lazy rivulets. Rose’s breath ghosts over his head, and before he can think too deeply, he’s pushing against the man’s lips.

Rose opens up immediately, and Piers drives himself home for the last few shots, balls deep and cock twitching.

Rose chokes around him, paws at his thighs.

_Not yet..._

When Piers is empty — and thinking far more clearly — he pulls out of that wet heat. The chairman’s eyes are full of unshed tears, his lips puffy and parted.

Piers startles when Rose lunges forward, prepares himself for anything.

Well, maybe not this...

Rose clings to a leg like it’s a work of art, pressing kisses up the marble-white length of it. He’d probably suck his toes if Piers waved a foot in his face.

Pathetic.

Piers strokes the man’s scalp anyway. He’s been good today.

* * *

Session twenty seven.

Piers feels the strangest shudder when Rose’s lips wrap around his cock. Soft plump lips. Piers wonders fleetingly if he exfoliates them; wears lip balm.

He pushes that thought away. He’s here to do a job. Slowly he lets himself relax. Rose is staring up at him. Waiting. His tongue flicks out, coaxing Piers, and with a gasp he lets go. Lets himself piss in that mouth.

Rose swallows — so obediently.

Piers forces himself to go slower. Make it last. He pulls his hips back, and lets a sizeable splash of the stuff hit the man’s chin before slipping back in.

Rose moan’s around him, and Piers can hear him swallow, loud and hungry.

If someone had told him all those months ago that he’d be treating Galar’s chairman, the president of Macro Cosmos like his personal urinal, he’d’ve laughed.

Piers pulls out again, adjusts the flow so that there’s some force behind it. Feels his pulse flutter that little bit faster seeing it soak that expensive suit.

“Good boy...” Piers purrs; pushes back into that velvet heat until he’s empty. And still, Rose sucks like it’s the last dick he’ll ever get the chance to.

“Ah ah ah...” Lithe fingers find a fistful of hair, tugging. “I think you’ve had enough...”

“Yes, sir...”

There’s something about a man drenched in piss who takes orders that’s chipping away at Piers’ defences.

He lights a cigarette while Rose showers. Makes himself comfortable in that huge bed.

Soft, freshly laundered sheets. Probably changed by a team of housekeepers every day. Could he get used to this? Is he already used to this, that’s the big question.

He flicks the ash into a nearby ceramic dish. The chairman doesn’t seem the type to smoke, so why does he have one of these? Is it just for Piers..?

He almost doesn’t hear the door to the en-suite open, or a pair of soft footsteps saunter ever closer across carpeted floor. The bed dips beside him, and Piers sets that cigarette down - stubs it out.

He wondered how long it would take. How long until like all the others Rose would be coming after him for that one thing in particular.

Just lie back and think of Galar; isn’t that what they say?

Rose curls up behind him; buries his face in Piers’ hair. Something hard presses against his thigh.

Piers waits. Bites his lip.

But Rose doesn’t do anything else.

Almost ten minutes of spooning later, and still he’s doing nothing, even though his cock is hot and leaking.

“Kitten?”

He hates that pet name... still, Piers lets out a little hum to let Rose know he’s listening.

“I was thinking...”

Another hum.

Rose pulls away to get his phone. Piers hates himself all over again for missing that warm embrace.

“What do you think?”

The chairman is showing him a photo. It’s...

“A chastity cage?” Something else Piers isn’t completely familiar with, but the caption underneath the picture has him pretending like he is.

He should charge Rose extra for all the research he has to do here...

“You’ll have the only key, obviously...” The scratch of his beard against Piers’ neck has the other man shivering. He backs up a little against that fuzzy chest. Thinks about it.

For all of five seconds.

“Yes, alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piers realises the lengths Rose will go to; and his level of devotion...

Rose is in chastity just a few hours later. The perks of money, and ‘same day delivery’.

Piers feels a rush of revulsion. Rich people really can do whatever they want — _whenever_ they want.

He’s phoning Marnie; telling her he’ll be home somewhat later than usual. Official business with the chairman.

It’s not a complete lie.

They spend the rest of the day in Rose’s bed. Piers had jokingly remarked that cuddling would cost him extra.

Rose said it was money well spent, his face completely serious.

Rose is a very lonely man. And money can't buy love.

It can, however, buy an ounce of pity.

Piers affords the other man a rare kiss. He’s taken aback by just how much passion he receives, breaking away near breathless. He grabs the chairman’s face with one hand, holds him back.

Rose makes no attempt to move.

Like a well trained dog.

Piers rubs his thumb across those thick lips, presses until Rose gets the message and starts sucking. Ignores the slight throb between his own legs.

It isn't long before Rose is begging for a taste. Piers lights up another cigarette; indulges him.

He lays there on his back, takes a drag as the man between his legs gets to work. Sucks him into hardness — and honestly Piers is a little embarrassed at how quickly he’s accomplishing it.

His free hand fists in the chairman’s hair. Thrusts every now and then deep enough to make him gag. Rose takes it. Enjoys it.

His hands are pawing at Piers’ bony hips, stroking him like he’s made of marble. Rose’s touch is always hesitant, but devoted. Like he’s touching something he knows he shouldn’t, but dares to anyway.

The blowjob is sloppy, rushed. Excited. Piers takes another drag of his cigarette; feels himself start to edge closer.

It’s like having an excited puppy suck you off. But it isn’t bad. Really, it’s better than it should be.

Piers is getting there, his body trying to leave the bed and thrust into that mouth as that familiar heat pools deep down, threatening to crest.

He holds himself back. Can’t appear too desperate.

Piers has an idea.

“You have thirty seconds.” He then sneers. Bites back a cry when Rose speeds up, eager to please.

Oh shit. Oh shit, _oh **shit—**_

Rose moans as shot after shot then hits the roof of his mouth - something Piers is secretly glad of as it covers the embarrassing noise he may have just made himself. He pulls out, the last few lazy globs of cum not having so much as a chance to drip before a skilled tongue is lapping them up too. The chairman gazes up at him with those dreamy eyes, giving Piers another suck.

Piers looks down at the man now laying his head on his thigh. Staring up with at him coquettishly.

“Have I pleased you? Master?”

That last word has one of his hands finding itself in Rose's hair; hopefully distracting the man enough that he doesn't see his spent cock give that feeble twitch in response.

“For now.”

* * *

It’s a week later and they’ve dispensed with safe words altogether. Rose is gagged, his hands free to tap if he needs to.

One tap is a ‘stop’ which should be ignored at all costs. Two taps means he’s getting uncomfortable. Three taps actually means stop.

They never get to three.

Piers is starting to appreciate the look of those plump lips a little too much. The way they wrap around his dick. The way they look right now, stretched around a ball gag.

Piers tugs the chain connecting a pair of clamps fixed to Rose’s nipples.

One tap.

Piers laughs cruelly, and tugs again. Harder.

That forces a muffled cry out of Rose, who’s dick is straining against that tight little cage.

Piers plays with him like this for a while. Enjoys how easily he can turn this man into a quivering wreck.

When he removes the clamps, Rose’s nipples turn bright red, blood rushing back to them. Piers flicks one. Bites his lip with a smirk when Rose all but howls.

He uses both hands, runs his fingers, his thumbs over them and watches the man beneath him writhe and gasp. Flicks, pinches, and slaps them until Rose is actually crying.

But not tapping.

“You please your Master, tonight...” Piers coos, taking a fistful of that chest hair. He tugs at it before chancing a look down at Rose’s cock. At the long dribble of pre leaking from the tip.

Rose deserves a reward. Piers leans in and flicks his tongue over one swollen near purple nub. And bites.

One tap.

Piers chuckles, bites again.

One tap.

Another bite, and Rose is all but squealing.

What a good boy.

* * *

Piers has to admit he enjoys watching the chairman on a live feed, knowing he’s wearing that cage under a well cut suit.

Being the only one who knows the truth.

This feels less like their dirty little secret, and more like something... else.

Before Piers can think any more on the subject, he decides to distract himself by tapping a message instead. He can't help but giggle when his eyes flick to the television in time to see Rose visibly stiffen on air. His phone is set to ‘do not disturb’, with the exception of Piers’ number.

He’ll open the message later and see a single black heart. Piers is feeling generous today.

Marnie rounds the corner, throws a small couch cushion at him.

“Who’s that?” She points at his phone, her face neutral as ever. “You’re smiling...” Marnie then pulls the corners of her mouth up with her fingers. “Like this—“

“Shut up, I ain’t smiling...” Piers throws the cushion back at her, his face now red and guilty.

Marnie is on her gym challenge, comes home seldom these days, but when she does it makes his day.

He worries about her, even though she’s more capable than he ever was at her age.

_Don’t talk to strange men._

_Or women._

_Or anyone. Stay safe. Kick them in the shins and run if they try anything._

He begged her to at least take his Obstagoon with her as insurance.

“I’m not a little kid anymore.” She’d said. Piers felt every inch a parent, not a brother when he put his hands on his hips and yelled back, “You bloody well are, young lady!”

He’s not her dad. Or her mum. He’s her brother. Still, he feels like he’s been juggling all three roles since their parents—

He’ll do anything to protect her; anything.

Piers looks at his phone, a red heart appearing on the screen where Rose replied.

Piers would do **anything.**

* * *

It’s later that day when Piers is getting ready to go out — _there’s food in the fridge, Marn. All your favourites. Of course I can afford it?_

He’s flat ironing his hair in the mirror, sweeping it into a high ponytail. Every session gives him the chance to play dress-up, and Piers thinks he’s starting to enjoy it a little too much.

He does his makeup, thick but crisp cat-eyeliner. Black glossy lips. He overdraws them slightly. Adds a beauty spot to his chin with a pencil.

“Piers..?” Marnie is in his doorway. He isn’t dressed up yet; he prefers to leave that little detail for when he gets to Rose Tower.

Piers has to admit, that gobsmacked hungry look he receives every time he saunters out of the chairman's bathroom, dressed to the nines - that's an ego boost.

“What’s up?” He doesn’t turn around, pats down any stray flyaways with hair serum. Makes himself look polished. Perfect for Rose.

“Someone... said something the other day in town.”

“Are you going to tell me what that something was?” Piers turns then. Smiles. “Or am I meant to be a mind reader, you little gremlin?”

“What’s a Town Bike?”

Piers drops a tube of lipstick with a clatter. Doesn’t go to pick it up.

Immediately he’s thinking the worst.

“Who called you—?”

“Not me.”

Oh.

Of course not her.

“What does it mean..?”

Her voice is small and confused, and it feels like the deepest knife to his heart. Piers stands up before kneeling in front of her. He takes Marnie’s shoulders, forcing a kind smile onto his face.

Don’t ever worry about me, it says.

“Sometimes... _sometimes_ people say very nasty things about other people. Nasty things about how they live their life, that’s all.”

“Are you sad?”

That smile never works, does it?

“A little.” Marnie wraps her arms around him tightly. Piers returns her embrace, holding back tears. Not until she's out of the room, he tells himself.

“If I see Big Rick again,” Marnie is speaking so quietly, he has to crane his head to get his ear closer to her mouth, "I'm going to rip off his head, and shit down his throat."

"Who taught you that?!" He suddenly pulls back, his eyes agog.

"You did?"

Piers laughs - genuinely laughs until his ribs begin to ache.

“Don’t do that...” He musses her hair, which never fails to make that little face of hers scrunch up, her hands patting his away. “And I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

Piers crosses his heart. Smiles again.

“Well, okay.” Marnie walks off, but doubles back just to add, “I’ll make it look like an accident. Just give the word.”

Part of him believes her in this moment, the way her usually innocent face is now echoing the feral energy only an angry child's can.

“Piss off out of my room already. Love you.”

“Yes, yes, mutual...” She scoffs, skipping off down the hall with pinkening cheeks.

It’s when she’s gone, out of earshot, that Piers closes his door, lock it and weeps.

Cries really hard after five minutes, completely ruining his makeup.

Sobs unrelentingly on his bed still, half an hour later.

His phone rings. It's Rose.

And Piers is late. Shit. **Shit.**

Picking up the phone, he’s expecting a harsh tone. Expecting to be told that if he can’t follow simple rules, Rose can easily find someone else.

Someone so much _better-_

“Is everything alright?” He hears him say instead.

“N-No...”

Rose’s voice goes from slight worry to full blown panic.

“Where are you? Are you hurt?!”

“Emotionally.” He sniffs, reaching for nearby threadbare band t-shirt to dab his eyes. It's black, like everything in his bedroom.

Piers goes on to tell the chairman everything that had just happened, and some of his history for context. He feels like a vulnerable mess for over-sharing, but it’s pouring out of him and there’s no stopping it.

Rose asks again for this man’s name. A brief description. Piers doesn’t lie; he doesn't have the strength to pull his walls back up now. He tells Rose that it was his last client before they became exclusive.

He doesn't have to mention that alleyway, but Rose gets the gist.

“I’ll... see you tomorrow, Dear. Don’t worry about tonight. Or anything else for now.” Rose sends him a text while they’re on the phone; another heart. “Get some rest; I’ll make everything alright.”

* * *

Spikemuth's gym leader wonders what Rose really has the power to do. Send Big Rick a fine? Make up some asinine claim to get him thrown in prison for the night?

Get his Copperajah to chase him around town? Okay, that last thought gets a smile out of Piers...

Marnie asks him if he’s drinking anymore vodka this morning. He says yes of course and she fills the glass with yet more water. Their private silly little joke.

“Oh. I wanted to ask. Did you hear about what happened last night?”

“No?” Marnie had gone out early to buy some milk for her cereal; had heard people whispering in the corner shop.

“Big Rick.” Piers feels his heart stop beating. You can feel that sort of thing, right..? “Sucking hospital food through a straw, I heard.” She then looks at Piers. Looks guilty. “I didn’t do it, by the way...”

“Y-Yeah, I know...” Piers’ heart starts up again. Doubles, trebles.

“Someone said they saw a gang of gents in suits. I wonder who else he said mean things to...”

Piers is sure his heart will bounce out of his chest any minute.

Chairman Rose really just ordered a hit on someone because they hurt his feelings.

Chairman Rose who lays there obediently while Piers does god knows what to him. That Rose.

“You look paler than usual. Are you getting scurvy again..?”

“Shut it...” Piers laughs nervously.

Rose could crush him if he wanted to, he realises. But he won’t. Why is that thought alone bringing a rush of blood to his face..?


	4. Chapter 4

Piers’ phone sparks to life, a detailed message filling the screen. Rose wants him to come to Wyndon, and has arranged for a private taxi to take him straight to the roof of one of the best department stores.

Piers is soon en route, his mind whirring and reminding him just how much money and sway this man has.

He’s closed the place so they can shop. Together. Like a normal couple.

Are they a couple?

Piers asks himself. Reaches deep into his psyche. He thinks for a moment, hypothetically — of other people pleasuring Rose. There's a sudden hot spike of revulsion. Jealousy. His guts twist, and as the taxi touches down, Piers forces himself to abandon that line of thinking.

He can dwell on it later on the ride back.

It’s the boutique they’re spending the most time in tonight - Piers playing dress up, and the chairman all too happy to wait outside the changing room.

Piers is gorgeous, a real doll. Looks good in anything-

Rose feels himself swell; hits metal. There’s a dull throb at the reminder of his status. The biggest celebrity in Wyndon next to Leon — and ultimately the property of Piers.

A part of him wonders if Piers feels what he does. If he’s seen enough of him now to feel what Rose has always felt.

You can’t buy love, he reminds himself. Pushes that false smile on when the curtain opens.

Piers is dressed in black (obviously), and it’s much more feminine than his usual wardrobe.

Long sleeved blouse with chiffon sleeves. A studded leather mini skirt, and thigh high stockings. Best of all are the boots. Just covering the knee, glossy, buckled, and tapered to accentuate the length of those legs. The heels are chunky, not the narrow stilettos he wears in the bedroom.

“Rose..?”

The chairman looks up. Piers is staring in a way he isn’t familiar with. What does that stare mean?

“Yes? Dearest?”

Piers is sitting in his lap soon. Rose lets his arms encircled the other man, drawing him ever closer. Its the way they seem to slot together so perfectly that has the chairman feeling that all too familiar flutter.

“You look far away. Where are you?”

Rose doesn’t speak just yet. Holds him a little tighter, and commits this moment to memory.

Because any moment could be the last. Piers could decide one day to end this whole thing, and then where would he be..? He wouldn't be surprised if the man is saving a little nest-egg right now. Probably counting the days until he has enough and then-

"I said, where are you?"

“Nowhere, love. I’m right here.”

Piers doesn’t believe him. Not for a second.

* * *

Rose has booked an entire restaurant a few days later. Just the two of them once again, and a small handful of staff who are paid not to ask questions. Paid to keep silent.

Rose has an appetite, that much is obvious. He could easily afford a personal trainer. A strict diet plan, and a gym membership.

But he puts it off. Says it will be his New Years resolution the year after. And the year after that.

It never happens.

“Not hungry..?” He’s asking the lithe man across from him. Piers is still on his first plate. Rose is polishing off his second.

“Can’t all be as insatiable as you.” Piers finishes the sentence with a smile; a real one. His foot comes up to stroke the other man’s calf under the table - inches a little higher when the tops of Rose's ears begin to colour.

They’ve been spending more and more time like a couple - barely anything sexual for almost a month now. Piers hates that he misses that.

Misses making the other man gasp and moan.

Is Rose getting bored of him?

Piers is caring less about the money, and more about suddenly not being good enough anymore.

Piers is enough. He knows he is.

That foot inches a little higher to prove it. Rose is tempted to tell him to stop. Cut all ties now before this gets any harder.

Except he can’t quite find the words.

Dessert comes soon enough. Piers wraps his lips around that fork as Rose feeds him, making a show of it.

“You’re beautiful.” Rose whispers suddenly.

“I am?” Piers isn’t stupid. He knows he possesses certain qualities that men seem to go for. Knows he’ll do in a pinch when some men can’t find a woman for the night.

As long as he looks away. Stays quiet.

And most importantly, never turns around.

There’s a part of him that’s self-conscious. Knobbly knees. Prominent rib cage. Wrists and ankles like a bird’s. Marnie jokes about his hollow bones - how she’ll be able to pick him up and drag him out of the house if there’s a fire.

The sad part of that is it’s probably true.

Rose takes both of his hands, squeezes, and Piers looks up. Gets lost in a green pair of eyes.

“Yes. You are.”

* * *

Piers goes home with Rose that night.

He’s ready to be fucked — wants it now. To prove himself, that’s all.

Except Rose wants to cuddle. And Piers is finding himself too shy to push the issue.

So instead he lies there in the chairman’s arms listening to his heartbeat as Rose's fingers card through his hair. A memory he'll cherish whatever happens.

When Piers wakes up, he’s frowning. No Rose. He blindly stretches a hand out, mid-yawn. The bed is cold. He’s been gone for some time, then.

When he finally sits up he spies a pink folded note on the bedside table, his name written in cursive on the front.

He unfolds it.

_Couldn’t bear to wake you, you looked so peaceful._

_I have a few meetings today, but I’ll be back around three. Make yourself at home x_

Piers does. Eats most of of Rose’s caviar, and polishes off half a bottle of the fine wine he keeps tucked away behind the rest.

Piers is barely tipsy, used to much harder stuff. He floats around the chairman’s penthouse like a ghoul, wrapped in a silk bedsheet.

This is the highlife of a whore, he thinks. Tells himself he should write that down because that’s brilliant. Fucking amazing actually.

Maybe he is drunk...

Just a little.

When Rose returns, Piers has finished the bottle, his hands bold and groping at the man’s waistcoat.

“What took you so long?” His words are slurred - merry. Rose chuckles, takes the man by the wrists and holds his hands away.

Piers flops what he can against him as he tries to wrap a leg around the man.

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m **fun!** ” Piers insists. Rolls his hips.

“Of course you are...” The chairman manages to turn Piers around before marching him towards the bedroom.

Yes, that’s more like it.

Piers grins when his back hits the mattress, reaching a bony hand to clasp around that necktie. He tugs it.

Rose is still smirking, gently trying to disentangle himself.

“You need to sleep this off.”

“Make me.” Piers is already sitting back up, clumsy hands trying to unbuckle Rose’s belt. Even three sheets to the wind, he’s a man on a mission.

Rose prises him off again, not hard enough to hurt but it’s firmer this time.

And its that firmness Piers wants all of a sudden to press him into the mattress.

“Sleep, my angel.” He looks sad for a split second. Piers is too drunk to notice. _“Sleep.”_

Piers huffs, rolls over. Rose covers him with a blanket.

“Didn’t wanna fuck you anyway...” The other man yells - thinks he’s whispering.

Rose spends the rest of the day answering work emails. Donating to charitable causes. Anything to distract himself from the thoughts that are begging to surface.

Thoughts of the two of them together years from now. Happy. Maybe a smaller house in the countryside—

His phone buzzes. Bede. Again.

Rose groans, switches the ‘do not disturb’ mode on.

For once, the last thing on his mind is Wishing Stars.

He misses the subsequent message from Oleana who says she’s keeping an eye on Bede. Following him to Stow-on-Side tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s the next day, and Rose needs to be punished. Piers is positively elated of the fact.

He’s turning up the speed on the fucking machine, his own cock getting hot and heavy as ten inches of silicone disappear into the chairman’s arse in rapid succession.

Piers isn’t sure why the sudden switch back into their old routine, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when Rose is splayed open and moaning so deliciously.

“Too much...” He cries. Piers dials it up, bounces on his heels at the subsequent cry that earns him.

“Trying to appeal to my better nature?” Piers drawls. “You should know by now I don’t have one...” He’s soon fitting Rose in a ball gag and blindfold, leaving his hands free as ever to triple-tap if he needs to.

He won’t.

Piers takes a moment to rub his own cock, eyelids fluttering closed.

Rose continues to wriggle, caged cock dribbling. Piers wants the next part to be a surprise.

Rose then howls, the vibrations against that cage the most painful pleasure. The intensity is adjusted, and the head of the massage wand reapplied to the tip of Rose’s cock. It buzzes against the metal, unrelenting.

“You made me do this...” Piers growls.

Rose sobs. Writhes. Looks absolutely perfect, in fact.

* * *

Piers lets the man curl up behind him later after his shower. Tries not to shy away when that cold metal hits his arse. Piers is ticklish and Rose can never know...

“You’re somewhere else.” Piers then says. Just like the day before.

He’s known the man long enough now — intimately enough — to twig when he’s having an off day.

He isn’t letting it drop.

Rose fidgets. Sighs into that black and white hair.

Tells his master everything.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done it.” Rose admits. Bede had looked so crushed when the chairman rescinded his endorsement.

Piers is quiet for a moment, assessing the damage of the situation, along with the best advice he can muster.

Even if it _is_ blunt.

“He took your prized Pokémon without your knowledge. And destroyed a historical landmark.” Piers shifts, turns around so that he’s facing Rose. “At least you weren’t hiring goons to have his legs broken.”

“You... heard about that..?”

“I did.” Piers hums, a spindly hand coming up to stroke Rose’s hair when he lays his head down on that sparrow chest.

“I don’t do that sort of thing often...” Piers traces random shapes with his fingertips across the shaved side of his head. When he hums, he's surprising himself at the noise. It sounds content.

“Are you trying to tell me I’m special?”

Rose is silent; shifts uncomfortably.

“And if I were..?”

Why can’t they fuck? Why don’t they ever fuck?

Why won’t Rose just throw him onto his back and tell him how he feels in the only way that matters?

Why can’t Piers find the strength to ask for it; that’s the real question.

Piers twirls a finger around that lock of Rose’s hair.

“If you are...” He’s silent for a moment, thinking of what he’s about to say next. Screw it. “You should probably come out and say it. Because I don't have all day.”

"More important places to be?"

"Exactly." Piers smirks. His hand is leaving Rose's hair to instead close gently around his neck. He thumbs the man's Adam's Apple, feeling one of those overrated romantic flutters in his chest when it bobs.

“You _are_ special.” Rose whispers. Piers lets his eyes slide shut, warm lips pressing kisses now up the length of his neck. Warm, scratchy kisses.

“Tell me why.” His hand grips a little tighter.

“Because you’re different.” Kiss. “A breath of fresh air...” Rose sounds like he means it. Another kiss. “You have principles.”

“And you respect that?”

“I do.”

Piers gets comfy, squeezing Rose’s neck as more kisses are laid upon his. They don’t kiss often, and so the higher the chairman is inching, the more Piers wants it.

Rose will choke on his cock without thinking twice. But he’s so shy about stealing a kiss. Surely if he’s paying, he knows he can do whatever he wants, right..?

Piers decides to take it further for once. Leans down, and angles his head so that their lips are inches apart. Nudges the chairman’s nose.

_Kiss me for the love of god, or I just might die._

Rose’s arms pull him closer.

_Yes._

Rose’s hands start to stray, one in Piers’ hair and the other sliding down his back. Lower still.

_Yes yes **yes.**_

Piers feels the man’s breath on his mouth. Nudges him again.

_Stop fucking teasing me._

Just as a thick set of fingers inches beneath his waistband, a phone is ringing.

Piers swears. Loudly.

“My angel, you curse like the devil sometimes...” Rose titters. Leaves the bed to answer the phone.

Piers is fuming. And very _very_ hard.

* * *

Piers is straddling Rose’s lap later as he works at the computer — rocks his hips every so often, smiling to himself when the chairman groans.

“Oh, I’m not distracting you. Am I?” Piers waits for Rose to begin a sentence and drags his tongue down the shell of his ear. Said sentence devolves before it gets a chance to begin.

Rose drops his pen. Clutches the other man’s non-existent ass, breathing deep.

Piers will ride him right here if he asks.

_Ask me._

“Not at all.”

A shy squeeze, and Rose’s hand disappears around that pen again. Piers pouts.

Is this guy blind to hints, or does he simply not care?

Or, just maybe, is he trying to get Piers to ask for it.

Fat chance; two can play at this game...

“No?” Piers reaches down and unbuckles those trousers to reveal that stainless steel cage. He slips a lithe finger between the bars, rubs it back and forth across a very wet slit. “Are you sure..?”

Rose hisses, rests his head against the man’s shoulder. Piers loosens that necktie with his free hand. Takes great pleasure in taking his time. A finger and thumb deftly unbutton the first two buttons of that crisp white shirt, and Piers’ lips find the low side of his neck. Just at the crook above his collarbone.

He sucks. Rubs that finger a little faster.

Both of Rose’s arms are flung around him moments later, his hips rocking into the sensation as Piers sucks the hickey to end all hickeys.

Rose will see it everyday before he gets dressed. And every evening when he’s stripping to take a shower. He'll know it’s there under his clothes when he’s giving speeches - meeting colleagues.

Rose will remember just who he belongs to; and who calls the shots.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piers has a sniffle. Chairman Rose to the rescue.

Pier is sick. Not of anything in particular for once, he's just under the weather.

Very under the weather, as it happens.

His nose is running. His throat is itchy. He keeps sneezing every five minutes.

It’s hell on earth is what it is.

Piers pouts, picking up his phone to cancel on Rose again. He’d been so excited to amp up the dirty talk for their next session — he'd even written a three page script and rehearsed for the occasion.

Not to mention, he'd polished his favourite thigh-high heels in anticipation of the chairman getting on his knees to get them a good spit-shine.

Maybe next time, he thinks to himself, mouth twisting into the sour expression a child's would were they just told to put away their toys.

Piers sends the message, and shuffles in the direction of the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

Skuntank follows him; makes those snuffling sounds which roughly translate to ‘pay attention to me, human’.

Its when the kettle starts to boil that his Rotom phone flies up to alert Piers of a reply. Half of him doesn’t want to read it. The other half is curious and wins out.

_**If you’re playing hard to get, it’s working.** _

Piers smiles, leaves it a good ten minutes before he’s responding.

_**Kitten is sick. Got a real bad sniffle, daddy...** _

He doesn’t get a reply after that. What he does get is a knock at the door less than twenty minutes later — and with this blasted head cold, he's far too fatigued to put two and two together, assuming it's the postman.

“Hang on...”

Knock knock knock.

“I SAID HANG ON.” Piers fails to find a pair of trousers under all the clutter. Fuck it. If they see his balls, they see his balls. Whatever.

When he opens the front door; Piers isn’t sure who he’s looking at for a few seconds. Then it clicks.

“Rose..?”

Piers is only wearing a faded, presumably XL Black Sabbath t-shirt, given the way it billows around him, his thighs out and his feet bare.

Rose's gaze lowers to his black painted toenails.

_Cute._

“Get inside before someone sees you!” Rose is being yanked through the door before Piers is locking it.

Is the man wearing... polyester?!

“No one recognised me.” Rose removes his sunglasses, and that stupid hat.

“Why are you even here..?” Piers asks looking at those shorts. Dear lord, it’s like looking directly at the sun.

Piers startles when he’s suddenly holding a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses. Black roses.

“You should’ve told me sooner.” His forehead is being kissed. “You feel warmer than usual.” Does he..?

Piers sneezes then into his elbow. Takes the tissue Rose is then offering him. “You better not have spunked in this...” Piers dabs at his streaming nose.

Piers sniffs. Sniffs again.

Rose holds out another tissue.

“Blow.”

“Right here? In the hallway?” Piers teases.

Rose sighs; pulls out his wallet. Raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘now will you do it?’

“I’ll do it for free if you stop giving me those bloody Yamper eyes...”

The chairman’s smile stretches wide. Victorious.

Piers snatches the tissue while Rose puts away his money.

**HONK.**

So attractive.

Except Rose keeps staring at him like Piers is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

They move towards the living room, and are soon sat side by side on a threadbare sofa.

Piers is of course going to take complete advantage of this moment. Slides a bony hand up that strong thigh—

Except he immediately starts up into a coughing fit.

Rose pats his back; helps him cough up something very foul smelling and black.

“How sexy am I right now?” Piers scrunches up the tissue he’s spat in, flings it at the bin and misses.

Even now with the eyeliner from the day before smudged around his eyes, and a red chafed nose, Piers is breathtaking. Rose wants to say it, but can’t quite find the nerve.

Piers is only doing a job after all. And will surely think him pathetic if he admits exactly to what goes through his head when they’re together.

And on the nights alone when they're apart.

The chairman decides to say nothing at all.

Piers is laying against him on the sofa, and they’re soon watching the telly. A horror movie at three in the afternoon, par for the course where Piers is concerned having grown up on grizzly b-movies that verge on low-budget halloween porno.

Piers finds it funny when the other man is flinching at every jump scare; looking away when there’s an abundance of blood.

He snuggles a little closer. What an idiot...

“Chocolate?”

_Why yes, don’t mind if I do._

Piers pops his mouth open and Rose hand feeds him half the box while they find something else to watch. Piers has seen that movie at least a dozen times, anyway.

One of the gym leaders’ legs has flopped across Rose’s within the last ten minutes, his arms curled around him and his head on his chest. Piers hums as Rose plays with his hair. Feels his eyes flutter closed from the combination of that and the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat.

“Your home is—“

“A shitheap, you can say it.”

“I was going to say colder than it is outside.”

Piers gets even closer, is tempted to straddle the chairman’s lap and tell him he knows just how they can stay warm. Maybe later.

“Shit landlord. The heating’s been broken since November.” He nuzzles a little closer, before his voice takes on a surreptitious and playful tone. "But sometimes, when I can get away with it, I hook Tox up to the mains. But you never heard that..." He pats Roses's chest.

“I can always have a word with him.” Several words in fact, and none of them nice.

Piers hums, peels the zipper of Rose’s top down a few inches so he can play with that chest hair.

“You don’t have to.”

_Tell me you want to._

“But I _want_ to.”

Piers' eyes slide shut with a contended sigh, a slender finger now tracing Rose’s Adam’s Apple.

“You know what _I_ _want?”_ Piers whispers. Rose looks down. Those green eyes are now dark; pupils blown wide.

“What do you want, Dearest?” The chairman’s voice is low. Full of intention.

They’re finally gonna fuck right here on this couch, and it’s going to be glorious.

“I want...” Piers clambers onto the man’s lap. Sneaks a hand down and pulls his caged Rose out of those migraine inducing shorts. “My Big Boss...”

“Mm, is that so?” One of Rose’s hands slips up the other man’s thigh. Rests on his rear but let’s a single finger trace idle circles very close to a certain place in particular.

“Yes.” Piers lays himself up against his chest, leaning in to nudge noses.

The silence between them is heated. Filled to the brim with a sexual tension that has them both breathing a little harder.

Piers finds that rush of adrenaline he saves for the stage. Takes the initiative and runs his tongue along Rose’s lips.

Finally, they’re kissing. And finally one of Rose’s fingers is rubbing between his cheeks — teasing his hole, and knows exactly how to fucking do it, the bastard.

Piers feels slightly guilty that he’s probably going to give the chairman his cold. But he’s waited long enough.

“Your key. I keep it upstairs...” Piers' voice is as ragged as if he's just finished a set; but he can't find it in him to feel embarrassment. Only raw need. He grabs Rose’s hand, and gets to his feet with some reluctance. They’ll be all over each other again soon, he tell himself. Fucking and sucking and—

Piers gasps when he’s being lifted into a strong pair of arms. Wraps his legs around Rose’s waist, and clings to his shoulders as the chairman marches them out of the room. Towards the staircase just by the front door.

The front door that’s being unlocked— no wait, it isn’t because Piers has left the key in.

“Piers?”

It’s Marnie.

“Shit...” Piers freezes. Peers over the chairman’s shoulder at the frosted glass. She can’t see them.

“I can see you.”

“Shit..!” He jumps off; stuffs Rose back into those stupid fucking shorts. “Uhh... let her in, I guess? I need... pants...”

Rose waits until Piers is at the top of the stairs and out of view before he’s assessing himself in the hallway mirror. He looks fine.

Wait.

Rose pulls the zip back up. All the way up. Hides that hickey that after a week is still begging for attention.

He then turns the key in the lock; opens the door.

* * *

Marnie hadn’t seen anything through the door. Just indistinct shapes, and a giant black and white blur she knew to be her brother’s hair.

“Why is mister Rose here?” She asks, making tea. Always make tea for guests.

“He’s... passing through. On gym challenge business.”

“Oh.” Marnie nods. “And the flowers?”

Shit.

“A gift from... a fan.”

He hates lying to Marnie. But the truth is worse.

_Hey, kiddo, the chairman is actually here to fuck my brains out. Also all that money I keep sending you is his. Because he pays me. To slap his balls and call him a bitch._

“Are you gonna finish these?” Marnie is holding up the half empty box of chocolates.

“No, you take ‘em.”

When Piers and his sister re-enter the living room, Rose is staring at his phone, a Skuntank on his lap.

It gives Piers a guilty look. Caught in the act. It’s not jumping off, though; content to knead the man’s clothing.

When Piers sits back down it’s as far away from the chairman as he can muster without looking awkward about it.

Piers’ phone then buzzes. He nonchalantly picks it up while Marnie is busy channel hopping.

_**I’d pay every last penny for five seconds inside you.** _

Piers nearly chokes on his tea. Crosses one leg over the other as his face turns red.

Rose doesn’t tease him often, but when he does...

Piers taps a reply.

_**You really think you’d last five seconds..?** _

They share a knowing smirk, then.

Marnie puts on one of the movie channels. It’s a Star Wars film, and she knows exactly what her brother is going to say.

“This franchise stinks.” He coughs up another lump of phlegm into a tissue.

“Chairman Rose what are your thoughts?” Marnie asks.

No one has ever passed this test.

She can’t wait to see her brother blow up. Everyone loves Star Wars except him. And Piers is always ready to tell them exactly why they’re wrong.

“Well.” Rose looks thoughtful for a moment. “If they were going to rip off Dune, they could’ve tried to be a bit more subtle of the fact...”

Marnie drops the remote.

“Right?!” Piers’ hands are up in the air. “Fucking thank you!”

Marnie growls when both men start gushing over science fiction. Over the art of addressing socioeconomic and environmental concerns that man forever falls victim to - but in space, because it's a **metaphor.**

Marnie turns the volume up on the telly to drown them out. “Bloody nerds...” She whispers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Piers goes to therapy.  
> TW: fleeting mentions of past sexual abuse

Rose’s contact information has changed more times in Piers’ phone than anyone else’s.

After that rather messy session in the penthouse it had was ‘Chairman Piss’ for over a week. Two sessions later it switched to ‘Gives Good Head’.

Other notable changes include:

‘Chairman Chinstrap’ - that beard is stupid.

‘Big and Beardy’ - after riding that beard, it’s starting to look less stupid.

‘Slut’.

‘Grower, Not a Shower’.

Right now he’s listed as ‘Daddy Big Hands’.

Piers slips two fingers into himself; imagines one of Rose’s. Why does he have to have such big fucking hands..?!

**“Fuck...”** He slides down to his knuckles. Groans. Grabs his fucking phone and dials Rose because he has to hear that stupid sultry voice in his ear when he comes.

Besides, it’s only three o’clock. Rose’s big meeting listed on the calendar isn’t until four.

* * *

  
Apparently the meeting was rescheduled at the last minute.

And when Piers’ called, the chairman’s phone was set to speaker mode. In a room full of bigwigs with even bigger wallets whom Rose was trying to convince to upscale Spikemuth.

A detail which he hadn’t told Piers about.

Punishable behaviour, really...

* * *

“Didn’t. Say. A fucking. Word?”

It’s the next day, and Piers is paddling the chairman’s arse between each syllable. Harder and harder until his toes are curling.

It really was a sweet idea, though. Rose truly cares about Galar, doesn’t he? Even a toilet like Spikemuth.

There’s something adorable about that. Something adorable about Rose.

Which has nothing to do with the two hour phone call they’d spent from their respective houses the day before just talking into the wee hours of the morning.

_You hang up._

_No, **you** hang up..._

Piers is setting down the paddle. Picking up that slim riding crop with the heart shaped end seconds later. It always leaves the cutest marks.

Luckily for both of them Rose had been quick enough to cut the call before Piers gave the game away.

And didn’t correct the gentlemen in the room when they all assumed it had been a woman panting down the phone.

He even accepted a high-five from that one creepy guy with the combover who heads the accounting department.

Needs must. And Spikemuth really needs improving.

”As long as we’re not getting any of those godawful drinking fountains.”

”Not even a _little_ gentrification?” Rose teases.

”Fuck off.” Piers huffs out a laugh. Pulls out that extra large buttplug from the chairman, and stifles another when the man whimpers.

”Surely you’ll want a boutique?”

”Hmph. Maybe.” In all honesty, it’s been a pain previously having to go all the way to Wyndon in the past when he ran out of suitably gothic socks.

They’re sharing a shower sometime later, and Piers will fully admit that he’s enjoying himself.

Enjoying having someone strong and warm run their hands over him, wash his hair, and press those prickly kisses in all the right places.

Rose knows Piers is ticklish now, and takes full advantage. Grabs him while he’s busy flailing - giggling, and presses that beard into the crook of his neck. Watches him squirm and gasp for breath.

Outside of roleplay they act like any normal couple. Though it isn’t said, and though labels aren’t used, they’ve fallen into a comfortable routine.

They still haven’t fucked yet though.

Piers doesn’t want to press the issue - doesn’t want to force it if Rose isn’t ‘there’ yet.

Still, the dichotomy is amusing. The chairman who’s been on the receiving end of many a dildo suddenly becoming soft and shy when Piers’ hands begin roaming.

They both know they very nearly had that day in Spikemuth; fucked that is.

If Marnie hadn’t come home...

Piers is partly glad of the interruption. His room was — is always a mess, and not the most conducive space for fucking.

_Baby, just ignore that overturned speaker, and those six piles of clothes on the floor._

”Darling?”

Piers hums, snuggles closer to Rose in that big bed.

“I got you a little something.”

“Oh?” He can’t quite keep the smile off his face. Just what could it be?

He’s finding out soon. An almost exact copy of his usual choker. Except Rose is telling him it’s white gold.

He let’s the chairman put it on for him. The weight of the metal is comforting around his neck. It's cool, but quickly turns warm.

“I love it.”

_I love you._

They’re kissing again, long and deep, and though Piers wants nothing more than to be dicked down in this moment — in this big comfy bed with the mattress that doesn’t hurt his back — he’s content just to do this until the sun rises.

“Thank you for speaking to Opal.” One of those scratchy kisses has Piers huffing out a laugh when it moves from his neck to his ear. “Behind my back.”

“You were worried about that little brat. She’s retiring.” Piers shifts in the man’s arms; kisses his chin. “Two birds.” Smooch. “One stone.”

“Thank you.” Rose’s eyes look the way they do when his heart is full. Piers knows that look now. That genuinely touched look.

“You know how you can thank me.” Piers nestles closer before shifting around. Sticks his ass out and grinds into that cage just in case Rose didn’t quite get the message. “But coming inside costs extra.” Piers holds up a key; peeks over his shoulder with a saucy little wink.

He shouldn’t be pushing this hard, but he can’t help it. The chairman has to know what all this denying is doing to him right now. He has to.

“You’re sure about this?”

Right?

“Yes?” Piers scoffs.

The key is taken out of his hand. Piers then hears the padlock click open some seconds later. His heart races.

Rose sees him flinch. Watches as his hands fist in the bedsheets, waiting. Sees him go completely still.

Feels sick and closes the padlock again.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am?!” Piers scoffs again; but his voice is thick, and there are tears in his eyes.

Rose could really tell this whole time.

He lets himself be pulled into a warm embrace — kissed enough times to lose count. Let’s Rose dote on him and whisper how beautiful he is.

“Beautifully _damaged...”_

"I've never thought that."

Rose wipes those tears away with a thumb. Kisses where they fell. Where they’ve rolled.

“Do you think talking to someone about it might help?”

“Therapy?” Rose nods. Piers hasn’t thought about that; hasn’t been able to afford it for one. But he can now.

Somehow he doesn't think it's worth spending the money on.

“You don’t have to, but it might—“ Rose kisses him again. “I can wait. It’s not about that.”

Deep down Piers knows that.

“I just can’t stand to see you cry.”

More tears. How fucking embarrassing...

Rose doesn’t seem to think so. Keeps stroking Piers’ hair and rubbing his back as he lets it out.

“Fine.” He sniffs. “I’ll go.”

* * *

Therapy is... not how Piers had envisaged.

There’s no couch for him to recline on. No fussy looking bespectacled man in a suit. No clipboard.

No stereotypes that the eye can see.

And he hasn’t been asked even once the dreaded ‘how does that make you **feel?** ’

He’s talking about his parents now. Piers hadn’t expected to get into this in their first ninety minute session; but it’s happening.

Because really this is all their fault. Being forced to grow up when he’d barely been Marnie’s age. Running a household.

“You used the words ‘lost my childhood’. What did you mean by that?”

It’s pretty self explanatory really, and Piers wants to fucking say that.

Instead he holds back the swears, and the petulance; he talks about how he’d never signed up for this. No discussion. No warning. One stupid drunk driver, and you’re an orphan.

And now you have to be mum and dad, and big brother, and pretend you’re keeping it all together so she doesn’t worry. Because she can **never** worry.

Piers loops a finger through the pendant of his choker. Tugs once, twice, three times, knuckles white.

And you can’t ask for help because that’s a sign of weakness. And your uncle is fucking useless anyway and lives miles away. So you slowly lose your mind a little more each and every day until coping — _coping_ is the new norm.

Coping. Piers hates that fucking word.

The second therapy session is where he talks about Rose.

Though he knows everything is private and confidential, Piers can’t help but worry something might come out. Just the thought of ruining the man’s sterling reputation has him sick to his stomach.

Rose visits children’s hospitals and donates to charity for god’s sake; the papers would have a field day.

Piers doesn’t mention names. Doesn’t even allude to what the man looks like. But he has to talk about it.

The Copperajah in the room.

“He pays you to be in control.” The therapist repeats Piers’ words back to him.

Rose, the only one who doesn’t just use, abuse, and throw him right back into the gutter where he belongs.

“Does he know about your past?”

Yes.

Rose knows— nearly everything.

Piers didn’t want to tell him half the things that happened, but those kind green eyes had him opening up. Unburdening himself like he’s never had the chance to before.

And Rose doesn’t judge. Rose doesn’t blame Piers for anything. It’s something so simple and basic, but it’s nice.

It’s fucking nice.

Still, there are things he doesn’t share. Yet Rose can tell that something is wrong, no matter how well Piers thinks he can hide it. He could tell that day even when Piers put on his best fake smile, and asked for an ass-fucking like a good prostitute.

“Like, what would he do if he found out my last client who’s legs he had broken actually stealthed me too? Finish the job?”

“And that frightens you?”

No. It doesn’t. That intensity doesn’t frighten Piers at all.

And that’s wrong, surely. Fucked up of him not to even entertain the notion that Rose could harm him.

Rose who only has to whisper the order, and can have all the ghosts in Piers’ past erased.

Taken care of.

Take care of _him._

After years and years of taking care of Marnie, someone can finally take care of him. Someone who'll hurt the bad guys, kiss those old wounds, and heal him up real good.

“I know what you’re gonna say; it’s dysfunctional. Messed up, falling for my sugar daddy.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Of course they won’t; they're a consummate professional who needs to remain impartial. Instead they’re saying, “Why do you think everyone judges you?”

“Because it’s what I’m used to..?”

Piers tried pretending to be normal once. Tried dressing like other people; smiling like other people. He went a whole year without bleaching stripes into his hair, for fuck sake.

It felt false and ugly, and worse than any judgemental look or slur shouted his way when he’s being his authentic self.

He’s been assessed in the past. Understands himself well enough to spot the signs in Marnie years later.

_“Why can’t I smile?”_

_“Your face doesn’t always catch up with your brain. But mine doesn’t either. Don’t worry about it, ‘kay?”_

_“Okay.”_

He wonders if he should see someone about her. Get the diagnosis early. Then again it hadn’t helped him all that much knowing why he was different.

“So you don’t think it will help her?”

“Well, when you put it like that I sound like an arshole trying to wrap her in cotton wool all her life.”

“This is the same little sister you asked to take over from you as gym leader.”

It’s not a question. They both know he only has one sister.

“Yeah.”

“Why is that?”

So he can keep an eye on her? Keep her out of danger? He knows the kind of people that are out there — he's experienced them first hand.

“You're worried what happened to you will happen to her.”

Again, it isn’t a question.

“You... are good at this...” Piers begrudgingly admits.

The sixth session is where Piers admits to the more... delicate side of his relationship with Rose.

He’s talking about the chastity cage. How their relationship — whatever it is — had gotten all the more closer after the chairman first put it on.

“You feel safe. Knowing he’s locked away?”

Piers gets that tunnel vision suddenly that only occurs before he faints, or hurls. Steadies himself on that flimsy plastic chair, and puts his head between his knees.

“We can call it a day, if you’d like.”

Piers shakes his head. This is what they call a breakthrough, right..?

Rose had suggested locking his dick up — given him the key. Rose had let Piers call the shots from day one.

Rose was the one asking permission. Consent.

And in a twisted way, it had helped. Not fixed him — and Rose keeps insisting he isn’t broken in the first place — but over time some of the cracks have started to close.

That flash of worry he used to feel when the other man curls up behind him has all but vanished.

Those hands he used to shackle to the bedposts; those big strong hands make him feel safe now. The handcuffs are gathering dust god knows where.

Rose would never hurt him.

He’d first gone into this thinking Rose a pathetic loser; but one he’d gladly milk for cash.

Hot water? A fridge full of food? Piers felt as thought all his Christmases had come at once.

“And it’s not about the money anymore.”

“No.”

It’s not.

* * *

Therapy always ends the same. A private taxi picking him up and whisking him away to Rose Tower.

Except this time he’s finally allowing his mind to wander; letting it make those connections he’d once avoided — the thoughts he tells himself he’ll dwell on another day.

_Rose Tower feels like home._

It’s felt that way for a long time. Curling up in a big warm bed with a big warm man.

_Rose feels like home._

Rose who has hair in all the right places, and a few more. Rose who lets Piers set the pace every single time.

Rose who holds him when he cries, and puts together his favourite filthy comfort foods in the middle of the night.

Even in that stupid little outfit he thinks no one can recognise him in, Rose makes his heart skip a beat. Makes it thrum faster.

This is real, isn’t it?

* * *

It’s the day before the big league match. Piers fiddles with his choker nervously.

Everyone has been invited to Rose’s penthouse for the pre-match party.

The chairman and Leon keep talking at random points in the night. Leon looks upset. Rose looks... strangely unreadable.

Piers pretends he doesn’t know the layout of the house; asks for directions to the bathroom from a member of the catering staff, and then stays there for at least ten minutes trying to remember how to breathe.

What’s worse is twenty minutes later, he’s sat on the sofa with a bunch of the other gym leaders — the very same sofa where Rose usually gives him foot rubs while they watch the telly.

And also gave Piers a really good rimming that one time. Made him see fucking stars actually and make that embarrassing squawk.

“Fuck, marry, kill.” Gordie begins. “Kabu—” He gets a stern look from the veteran. _Stop now,_ it says. “Okay, _not_ Kabu... Leon, that one taxi driver — you all know the one, aaaand... the chairman?” He laughs; points a finger at Piers. “How do you choose?”

“I’m not playing this game.”

Gordie starts making chicken noises.

“I won’t—”

Raihan joins in.

“God, fine!” Piers hisses. “Kill. All of you.”

“That’s not how you play.” Raihan kicks him softly in the leg, the spikes on Piers’ boots fending off anything harder.

“Then **you** answer.”

“Well, fuck Leon obviously.” He shoots a look across the room at the man who’s still discussing something with the chairman. Leon feels Raihan’s eyes and looks over. Smiles and waves awkwardly which has everyone save for Piers creasing. “Probably marry that taxi driver. I feel like he’d treat me right. Aaaand, kill Rose.”

The table erupts at that; everyone again except for Piers that is.

He can’t show what he’s feeling; can’t give the game away. Except it’s written all over his face.

“Oi mate, cheer up. You look more sour than usual.” Raihan teases. “If you’re not careful, you’ll curdle—” Piers isn’t listening. He’s watching Rose and Leon. Still talking, but Leon looks uncomfortable now.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“You need a drink.” Raihan isn’t asking — is soon pulling Piers in the direction of the kitchen.

They’re alone now, the rest of the guest-list taking up space in the living room, and out on the balcony.

“Why are you being weird?” Raihan shoves a drink in his hand. Gestures to it with his eyes until Piers takes a swig.

“Am I?”

“Yes. You are.” He’s sat on the kitchen counter. Piers holds back the urge to tell him to get off.

This isn’t his home tonight.

Raihan doesn’t get a lot of time to talk to Piers like this one on one. Nobody does, in fact.

He worries about the guy sometimes. Living so close, but never accepting an invitation to come hang together.

Does he _have_ any friends?

“Marnie g-maxxed her Grimmsnarl when she swung by my gym, y’know.”

Nothing.

“It was really cool...”

Still no reaction.

“Piers?”

“What?”

“Honestly?” Piers raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘get on with it’. “When you fall off the radar, you stay off it. And when we finally get you to a party, it’s like you aren't even here!”

Piers talks enough in therapy; it’s exhausting thinking about doing it all over again with a work colleague.

“I’m a private person. That’s all.” It’s not; but that’s all Raihan is getting.

Piers turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, ignoring Milo when he tries to engage him in small talk.

He needs to see Rose. Get him somewhere private and just...

He’s craving a big hug, as stupid as it sounds.

Piers spies that crisp well cut suit through a doorway, makes a beeline, the corners of his mouth pulling up.

Pauses when he hears Leon’s voice low and furtive.

“I _can’t—“_

“Yes you can.”

“Mister Rose, please. You have to **stop** this.”

“Leon, you have to understand,” Rose’s hand is on the champion’s shoulder. Piers feels his throat close, and his blood boil and freeze all at once. “There’s no one else — I **need** you.”

Piers clears his throat. Watches both men spin around looking equally guilty.

Rose’s lip twitches, his eyes pleading, “It’s—”

“Not what it looks like?”

Piers could make a scene. He wants to. Every bone in his body wants to smack the chairman across the face in this moment. And Leon too, if he’s honest.

Perfect Leon and his perfect body.

He was nothing but a starter before Rose tucked into the main course, Piers can see that now.

He wants to scream about betrayal, and how little Rose means to him anyway, actually. That they can fucking have each other for all he cares.

Piers does none of this. Piers leaves.

And Rose, feeling every inch a coward lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I did that~ >:3c


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein they FINALLY do the do...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mentions of rape/non-con

Heartbreak is a surprising motivator. Piers was only a hairs breadth from defeating Raihan; a shock to everyone in the stadium, including himself.

If Raihan was worried before, he’s even more so now.

Piers doesn’t dynamax. Piers still has his last pokémon against the wall, regardless of the fact.

Piers is screaming over the sandstorm, and quite frankly it's terrifying.

When their battle is over, Piers is sequestering himself away in the locker room. He’ll stay as long as he has to — for Marnie. And then he’s gone.

It’s when that challenger from Postwick, and Leon are about to battle that it happens.

_**“I think it’s about time I brought about the Darkest Day. For the sake of Galar’s future, of course!”** _

Piers feels his pulse quicken. Chances a look at Marnie who’s looking equally shocked.

He’s really been dating a James Bond villain this entire time.

In retrospect, the Perrserker on his lap should’ve been a dead giveaway...

Except James Bond villains don’t say they’re _in a bit of a pickle_ , and Piers has to hold back a surprised bark of laughter.

The stadium shakes, jets of pink and purple erupting from the ground.

Piers can’t help but feel some sort of blame. Remembers suddenly a very random hypothetical question the chairman had asked him after a particularly passionate night some months ago.

_If you could do something that would save people who haven’t even been born yet, would you do it?_

“You mean, like an apocalypse or something?” Piers smiles as those big hands run up and down the length of his back.

“Something like that.”

Piers recalls then how those usually sparkling eyes lost their sheen for just a second.

“And I’m the only person who can do something about it?”

“Yes.”

He remembers how his answer caused Rose’s arms to hold him very close indeed, a smile on his face.

“Well, I’d have to then. No brainer.”

Piers sits there in the locker room, eyes glued to the display mounted on the wall. Glued to Rose.

_Shit._

* * *

Shares in Macro Cosmos plummet overnight. One phone call to Oleana, and Rose is selling while they’re still worth something. The longer his name is connected, the further they’ll drop.

“You’re sure about this?” Oleana asks. She’s still taking his calls, even if they are from prison. Some of Galar has already turned their back on the man.

She won’t.

“I'm sure.”

Rose is then instructing her to change the name on the deeds to Rose Tower.

“Have you spoken to Leon about this?”

He has not.

Leon stares at the official signed document with much confusion. There’s one important clause; the penthouse belongs to Piers.

Piers has a presence about him, and it’s one that cuts through the bullshit of many a situation. No airs or graces. No sugar coating.

Unless of course you’re Marnie, and then the sugar is being coated twelve layers thick.

“The papers haven’t named you at all.” Those words are making Leon wince and look away. It's true. The former chairman is all over the front pages - has been for days, and Leon hasn't been named once.

Something Piers finds most peculiar.

Piers is making coffee for the both of them up in the penthouse, and the once champion can do little but watch.

Spikemuth’s former gym leader knows his way around the kitchen, along with the rest of the house.

How long had this been going on..?

“He... didn’t want me throwing my career away.” Leon’s voice is coming out more quiet than he’d like.

“And then you lost to that kid and threw it away anyway.”

Ouch.

“How did _that_ feel?”

Piers words are pointed, but Leon isn’t detecting any malice. He’s genuinely asking.

“Kind of weird? Like heartbreaking, but... a relief? In a way?” He can address his world being turned upside-down later. For now, it’s Leon’s turn to ask questions. “How long?”

He doesn’t need to specify.

“Seven months.”

Leon feels stupid; he’s been in such close correspondence with the chairman during the past year, and not once did Rose drop a single hint or clue. Not even now when Leon is looking back on every interaction with hindsight.

Except for that one day — the party before it all happened. Rose had told him everything when Piers made his leave.

Asked Leon to promise he’d look after Piers if the worst happened. Look after Piers _and_ Marnie.

“He probably didn’t want to tell you anything in case the press got hold of it. I imagine.” Leon’s taking a sip of the coffee he’s been offered.

Piers breathes out a sour laugh — looks every inch the injured party.

“If they find out about the two of you—”

“They’ll tear me apart. I know.”

“Are you ready for that?”

Piers sees the worry in Leon’s eyes, his own glare softening.

“Yes.”

* * *

It isn't long before text messages have been leaked - both Rose and subsequently Piers' phones being hacked in the coming days.

Piers is not available for comment. Frowns when he sees a blurry picture of himself and Rose sharing a dessert that night in the restaurant — one of his feet made visible from the light behind the tablecloth, very obviously nudging the chairman's thigh.

He's bristling, charged with anger. It could only have been a member of staff.

It disgusts him that they've been sitting on this. He wonders how many other photos there are just waiting to leak.

Deep down he's glad at least the pair of them never exchanged photos. That's one worry off his mind.

Marnie walks into his room, her chunky boots announcing her arrival before she'd entered.

"Piers..?"

Piers is back in Spikemuth of course. Can't stand to walk around that penthouse without the promise of Rose coming through the door.

Rose Tower no longer feels like home.

Piers screws up the paper and throws it in a random direction.

"Yes?"

Marnie is fetching it. Smoothing out the wrinkles to check the front page.

"Are you sad because your boyfriend turned himself in?"

Piers looks up from his tear-soaked pillow, makeup smudged and eyes red.

"He's not my—"

"I'm not an idiot."

No, she isn't. Marnie is incredibly observant in fact.

Piers wonders how long she's known. How obvious he's been.

He's then snatching the paper out of Marnie's hands. "You shouldn't read those, they're full of lies." And some truths. More truths than he wants her to be aware of.

He's finding out from the Daily fucking Star of all rags that Rose had swept his indiscretions under the rug months prior to their meeting that day at the tower. Had known about Piers and what he did, and was ensuring none of it surfaced.

Apparently there was even a video Piers wasn't aware of, taken that night with those five men in that one alley.

Rose had paid to make that go away. To have every last copy deleted, from phones and cloud space alike.

Except one copy must have remained because there are pornhub links all over social media this morning. He's trending.

#SpikemuthBike is trending.

It makes his stomach flip realising something that had started out consensually enough but had taken a very dark turn was now all over the internet.

A video of him being raped was on the internet.

Piers can't bring himself to click the video, but can tell that it's him from the blurred thumbnail. He threw up moments later, just barely making it to the bathroom in time.

And it's not only his reputation in tatters. Rose's name is being dragged through the mud. And Leon — Leon the once adored champion who could make all of this go away if he just stood up and defended the man in one fucking interview is silent. Silent and redecorating Rose Tower right this very minute.

"It's too late now." Piers whispers, head-butting his pillow to avoid those all knowing eyes. Marnie lays an envelope by his head.

"Well you should tell _him_ that." Her boots thump away, and when she's gone Piers is tearing open the letter.

It's...

A visiting order from the prison.

From Rose.

* * *

Rose wants to see a few people as it turns out. Make his peace, and apologise to them for the most part...

Bede folds his arms from across the table; he's made a point of not wearing that wristwatch the chairman— well, just Rose now, had gifted him.

Rose has never been good with expressing himself, content to throw money and gifts at those he cares about hoping they'll get the message without asking too many questions.

Bede's forlorn little face had sucked him in that day at the orphanage. That forlorn little face cut to ribbons and bruised from fights.

Fights he'd instigated, but Rose hadn't known that at the time. Even after finding out, he hadn't been surprised. Nor had he judged the child too harshly.

Bede had reminded him of a frightened Espurr that day. Cornered, spitting, and impossible to get close to.

But there was a defiance in those eyes. The will to claw his way to the top, and Rose understood that. Recognised it in himself.

He hadn't adopted Bede, not legally. But he'd given him residence at Rose Tower from then and nurtured him as best he could.

Opal was doing a far better job of it, it seemed.

He was a gym leader now. Loved by almost everyone in Galar, and accosted by fans whenever he dared set foot outside Ballonlea.

Everyone loves a rags to riches story. Even more so if the child is surprisingly photogenic and fast becoming a teenager. The press love Bede. Beautiful, stunning Bede.

And they've pandered to him for interviews ever since Rose was arranging his own arrest.

_Did he hurt you? Did he ever take pictures?_

_Did he ever tell you about his diabolical plans?_

_Did you have any idea this was coming?_

Bede holds back his frown today. Opal has taught him well. False smiles conceal our darkest thoughts. You can't let them see your pain. Never.

He could even fool his Hatterene now with a well timed look. Opal was pleased as punch.

He would go far, this boy.

Rose is apologising. And would no doubt be on his knees begging forgiveness if it weren't for the room full of other inmates and their families.

"I forgive you."

Even Bede almost believes himself for a second, his tone utterly convincing.

Deep down he knows that fiasco with Eternatus hadn't been for evil reasons - no matter what the press is purporting. But Rose had put the country, not only that, a future a thousand years from now before him.

And Bede knows its petty, but he's jealous. Jealous that Rose cared more about Galar - cared more about people who hadn't even been _born_ yet, before him.

He was supposed to be his _son—_

Bede's well crafted facade flickers for a moment, his eyes glassy as tears threaten to spill.

He blinks them back. Finally looks at Rose and sees him — really sees him for the first time.

Flawed. Human. Vulnerable.

Bede feels a spark of pity but he's pushing that down too. Before he can say anything else, the sound of a buzzer rings through the room.

Visiting time is over.

* * *

Rose had called Oleana some days later during regulation phone hours. Five visiting orders, and Piers still hasn't shown up.

"He hates me, doesn't he?"

"Mister chairman..." Oleana then tuts to herself; remembers that isn't who the man is anymore. "Rose." She clarifies. "I'll speak to him."

When she does, it's sternly at his front door later on that day.

Oleana cuts an imposing figure, her arms folded and her highest set of heels on today.

She's inviting herself in soon enough, and Piers is glad that Marnie is off playing in the graveyard with Allister.

A weird kid, but he seems harmless enough.

"Sugar?" Piers asks, making tea. Oleana takes two, and no milk. Stares coldly at him from over the rim of her cup. Piers can feel her eyes glaring daggers, and takes his sweet time with his own brew, pretending he can’t hear her tutting. She tuts a little louder when he starts to take too long for her liking.

"He sent you." Piers isn’t asking.

"I insisted." She narrows her eyes. Honestly she doesn't quite understand Rose's fixation with the man. Maybe that's just her naturally caring instinct taking over. Rose is like the strangest kind of brother and friend to her.

They've known each other for years, and she's been there for the storms and the sunshine.

And she can admit to herself that she's never seen him happier than in these past seven months.

And if it's Piers that does that, she'll do what she can to get them in the same room.

Even if that means greasing a certain prison guard's palm to look the other way so the pair can have a one-to-one visitation away from prying eyes.

* * *

Rose is expecting a slap to the face when Piers enters his cell; he's more than prepared for it when the man rushes over, raising a hand.

Except that hand takes a fistful of his t-shirt, and pulls him in for a searing kiss.

Rose doesn’t move, let’s his lips part when Piers’ tongue probes at them forcefully.

That hand is soon letting go of the fabric, joined by another as they slap at his chest.

“I hate you.” Piers hisses. “I **hate** you!” Rose takes a gentle hold of his wrists once the slaps turn to balled up, pounding fists.

“I know.”

Piers sobs; sinks to the floor, and Rose is joining him, strong arms wrapping around his slender frame.

They stay like that for a while, Piers an inconsolable mess as the former chairman strokes his hair.

Piers knows he’s covering the man in tears, snot and drool, but Rose makes no moves to get away. Holds him until the worst of it passes, and long after.

Piers is still shaking, his body and mind exhausted after such a breakdown. Rose rubs his back, whispers over and over again how sorry he is.

And Piers believes him - believes this idiot got carried away, and went too far down a path until he just couldn’t turn back.

Piers knows that feeling.

He rests his forehead against Rose’s, sniffles as the other man wipes away his tears. He knows he looks a mess, but all he can do is stay here in this moment, wait for his breathing to slow and the hiccups to stop.

Rose surprises both of them when he moves in — steals a kiss.

“I’m so sorry.”

Piers’ breath is shaky, adrenaline still coursing through him as he pushes back against those lips with his own. His arms are soon flung around Rose’s shoulders, drawing him ever closer.

Don’t you dare fucking leave me again, it says.

He’s sitting in the former chairman’s lap soon enough, and moments later is gasping into his mouth when he’s being lifted and carried over to the cot.

Much more comfortable than the floor, as it happens.

Piers rocks his hips — he feels the hardness in the other man's prison regulation joggers growing by the second.

He’s soon whipping Rose out of them, using his free hand to coax him further as the other grasps for purchase on the back of his neck.

It’s when Piers is sliding his trousers off his hips that Rose pipes up.

He’s unable to finish asking Piers if he’s sure — because Piers is telling him to shut the fuck up.

He’s used to spit in a pinch, and Rose sits there watching as the other man lowers himself over his cock for the first time.

Before he can worriedly ask again, Piers is sitting flush at the base, tears in his eyes.

Rose isn’t big enough to hurt; that’s not why he’s crying.

Piers is used to being pressed up against walls, or into the mattress of a grubby hotel room bed. He’s used to laying there and taking what others give him, money thrown his way after the event. He’s used to thinking the worst of men, and being proven right.

He’s not used to falling in love, or laying himself bare for anyone.

His heart physically hurt that night at the party — at the thought that Rose could’ve tossed him aside for a better model.

It hurt even more later when he found out from Leon that nothing had happened between them, nor would it ever.

A potential apocalypse had been terrible, obviously. But it had paled in comparison to the idea of not being enough for Rose.

He’s lifting his hips slowly, riding the man in gentle bouncing waves. Rose stares up at him, and those eyes tell him he’s enough.

Piers is enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: very brief mention of past rape/non-con

Piers lets Rose kiss him - lets the man wipe away his tears as he continues to move.

He’s rocking his hips, barely riding as the breath hitches in his throat. Piers is already embarrassingly close. And those scratchy kisses moving down his neck are only getting him there quicker.

He clutches the back of Rose’s head, desperate for something more — those big hands all over him, mainly. Except the other man’s touch is tentative; careful and doting as ever.

Piers grabs those hands and places them on his arse. Holds them there as he speeds up, starting again to bounce. Piers steadies himself, gripping the other man’s shoulders. His cock gives a notable throb when Rose squeezes both handfuls — encourages him to keep going.

He is, and very soon Piers is shuddering as his pleasure begins to build. Shuddering as those hands move, running up and down the length of his back to stroke and caress. He feels the tingle of gooseflesh when Rose’s fingers dip to the narrow point of his waist, and bites his lip because that’s where he’s the most ticklish, and it’s about to force a gasping laugh out of him that is most unflattering.

“U-Unfair...” Piers whispers. Rose tickles him again, an impish smirk stretching when Piers is unable to hold back the next laugh. “You bastard...” Is all he can say, his cock bobbing in betrayal. Said cock doesn’t mind the onslaught of tickles one bit.

“Sorry...” Rose says, not looking very sorry at all.

Piers swallows thickly, having to look away from those dangerous eyes, and that curving smile. Because Rose doesn’t need to hold him down or cuff him to something for Piers to realise he owns him.

Money and sex games aside, Rose owns a very special part of Piers that he hasn’t yet given anyone.

His virginity was a very long time ago, and Piers can’t remember the face of that man.

His shame was taken from him quickly after; something he’ll never get back, and once again that thief’s face is vague in his memory.

His consent had been taken. He remembers those faces clear as day. He wishes he didn’t, but perhaps one day those will be fuzzy, and not at all a taunting reminder in the middle of the night, waking him in a cold sweat.

Rose has taken possession of something else. Something that skips a beat when Piers stares into those eyes. Something that weighs heavy at the thought of a future without him, and something that swells when a strong pair of arms encircle him, lifting him just that little bit off the floor.

Rose has his heart. And Piers has no intention of asking for it back.

Piers is taking one of Rose’s hands in his own. Guides it lower, and lower, until its wrapping around the length of him. Kisses Rose deeply as he fucks himself on that perfect cock, his own flexing and dripping as he starts to edge closer.

The pleasure builds slowly — wraps around him in white hot velvet waves until he’s tensing. Shaking. Emptying all over that hand and up Rose’s wrist, moaning all the while. He slumps against the man, twitches when an aftershock courses through him with little warning, causing his toes to curl. Rose lays soft kisses all over his face, making no moves towards his own pleasure.

But that doesn’t surprise Piers one bit.

He’s easing himself off the other man, and shimmying lower. Rose goes still — asks again if Piers is sure.

“Never been _more_ sure.” Is the reply he gets before Piers’ lips, with little preamble, wrap around him and go to work.

For once Piers doesn’t have to pretend he enjoys this. For once he can go at his own pace — without a hand on the back of his head, or fingers bruising his neck.

For once, sucking another man off is all he’s ever wanted to do.

Piers has to bite back a chuckle when a hand finds the side of his face. He looks up, makes eye contact as a thumb strokes his cheek in encouragement.

And it’s the most intense blowjob he’s ever given, usually so content to look away in times like these, and get it over with quickly. Instead, Piers is happy to drag this out. He's happy to tease Rose and stare up at him unabashed as the other man loses himself to pleasure.

“Y-You don’t have to..!” Rose can’t quite finish the sentence because Piers is speeding up, his tongue flicking and lapping at the head of that cock as his lips suck harder. He knows it’s something he’s good at. Knows by the way Rose’s thighs are shaking that he’s not far from release.

Piers pulls away just long enough to say, _“want..._ to...” before he’s taking Rose into the back of his throat, grabbing those soft hips and bobbing his head until—

Piers smiles. Swallows again and again as his mouth is shot full of cum.

When he finally lets Rose out of his mouth, the man is a shuddering mess. Piers smiles watching him catch his breath; and his smile is soon stretching further when he’s being pulled into one of his favourite embraces, scratchy kisses peppering his neck and chin before lips connect.

The first time he’s ridden that cock. The first time he’s sucked it dry, and it’s at her majesty’s pleasure.

The next time will be in his bed in Spikemuth, of that Piers is certain.

* * *

Rose’s court date isn’t an especially long wait, just three weeks after his arrest.

Piers isn’t happy about the fact that he’s being held on remand at all. He doesn’t have a criminal record, and often gets carsick if a Corviknight taxi flies too high — meaning he can’t be a flight risk, so holding him here is ludicrous.

Another thing Piers finds ludicrous is being kept in the dark about the upcoming hearing, hitting a brick wall whenever he tries to broach the subject with Rose over the telephone. Or when he’s trying to get the truth out of Oleana.

Piers arrives at the prison, surprised to see the former chairman’s secretary there as well during visitation time.

Piers will be called as a witness. Oleana too. If it were up to Rose, neither of them would be involved at all. He’d face his punishment alone.

Because after getting a clear head on the matter, Rose can admit that he fucked up. Fucked up monumentally.

Still, no one died — something Piers is reminding him of.

“Yes, I know, but—”

“No buts.” Oleana snaps. Her frown then softens. “You don’t have a record. No one was hurt. You’ll walk this...”

Her smile is one Rose has seen before. It's the kind he’s seen her give him when he asks if an outfit makes him look fat. If these shoes go with that coat.

The smile of someone who doesn’t believe their own words for a second, but doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.

The worst thing of all is Piers is giving him that same smile.

* * *

His record is impeccable. His service to the country absolutely without question. Then there’s the subject of charity work. His defence lawyer is referencing public and private donations Rose has made over the years. It clocks up into the millions, and Piers, along with everyone else in the courtroom, is stunned.

He knew Rose was a nice guy - knew he loved his country. He didn’t know how much, until today. That business with Eternatus was just the tip of the iceberg. Rose cares; always has.

Piers is being scrutinised soon enough — his relationship with the chairman, scrutinised. Spikemuth’s former gym leader isn’t stupid. He thinks over his answers carefully - doesn’t take the bait when the prosecution tries to rile him up. Piers smiles sweetly and sticks to the script.

“I had absolutely no idea.”

“But it must’ve been something that came up; perhaps in the bedroom?” The man needles, sensationalism on his mind given the press are here in spades.

“Not very exciting pillow talk if it did.” That earns a laugh from the jury. The judge tuts, enough to silence the room again. “We never discussed it.”

That line of questioning is soon abandoned. Abandoned for another line the prosecution hopes will discredit and embarrass Piers enough into crumbling. And when he does — throw Rose under the bus, and make for a nice easy trial.

He’s being asked how much he was paid. Of course it would come up at some point. Piers isn’t daft.

“What I’m worth, and maybe a little more?” The judge gives him a stern look; celebrity or not, he has to answer properly. Piers throws out a rough figure — ignores the gossiping whispers from the direction of the jury.

“And what did you spend this money on?”

“Is that relevant?” Piers asks. “Moreover, do I look like someone who lives a lavish lifestyle on taxpayer’s money?” He's decided to dress down for the day, and even let his nail polish become chipped. Best to paint the perfect picture of poverty if it means he can help Rose.

That line of questioning falls at the first hurdle when it’s made clear that Piers still resides in a two bedroom flat in Spikemuth; one with dodgy heating, and single-glazed windows that freeze on the inside in the winter.

He can’t be accused of benefiting financially. Can’t be accused of being in on any of this Eternatus business either.

Still, the prosecution has one last ditch attempt to hand.

That video Rose had tried so very hard to make go away.

But some things never go away.

Piers can feel himself shaking, the urge to vomit or cry ever rising as whatever the prosecution accuses him of fades into a ringing white noise.

He usually blacks out at this point. He usually comes to some time later a fragile mess, wishing this didn’t affect him the way it did - but it does.

In this moment, Piers closes his eyes, and breathes. Grounds himself. Thinks of nobody but himself for once.

He is so tired of being a victim.

Piers is beckoning Rose’s defence barrister over. He whispers in their ear for what seems an eternity. When Piers pulls away there’s the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. It’s gone quickly enough for him to deny it ever happened if prompted.

The ‘evidence’ is quickly thrown out when it’s established that Piers’ previous sex-work a) isn’t relevant at all to the case, and is merely being weaponised by the prosecution to lead the jury, and b) the video in question contains a non-consensual act that could set his client’s therapy back irrevocably if made to view. The therapy most of the money he received was spent on. Which is a lie, because Rose paid those fees upfront before Piers even got the chance.

Piers has no qualms about lying. Not for Rose.

“No further questions.” The prosecution huffs.

Oleana is then accused of covering things up — because of her secret affair with the chairman.

There is no base to this, she’s quick to argue. And he’s not her type. And when the prosecution pokes her again, she glowers in that formidable way and tells him that straight women don’t trim half their fingernails like _this,_ as she holds her right hand up for the jury to inspect.

There are no further questions.

* * *

It’s Rose’s turn the next day, and he didn’t want Piers here for this. He didn’t want what his defence is planning to reach his ears at all, but Piers is waiting in the gallery. Piers is here to support him. As are Oleana, Leon, and the majority of the gym leaders.

The only few not in attendance are Marnie, Bede, and Allister.

Hop is also absent, keeping them company in a far off room. The details of the case were always going to be inappropriate for the younger ones. Marnie knows more than she’s letting on, having eavesdropped enough times to piece most of it together. What she knows for certain is her brother hates to waste his time, and hates being the centre of attention even more.

So he wouldn’t be here supporting Rose if the man wasn’t incredibly important to him. He wouldn’t bite back at reporters, telling them what a good man Rose is if he didn’t really believe it himself.

And as much as Bede pretends to feel nothing, Marnie can read him easily enough. She pretends she doesn’t notice that gold timepiece back upon his wrist - pretends she doesn’t notice when the barest of noises behind the door is making the boy sit a little straighter, eyes fixed upon it. Holding his breath. Waiting.

Still no news.

“How long is this going take?” Hop groans.

“Twelve more minutes.” Allister whispers. He tugs his mask down to reveal one glowing eye. “And thirty-seven seconds approximately...”

“Mate, you creep me out when you do that...” Hop whines.

“Do what exactly?” Bede is asking, holding back a smirk at the way Hop keeps shimmying further away from the smaller boy.

“Predict the future. Commune with the dead. All that guff.” Marnie says. She then walks over to Allister and knocks on his mask. Gengar seeps out of it with a chuckle, the purple glow leaving those eye holes. An amusing party trick, Bede thinks.

“You can’t really predict the future.” Ballonlea’s new gym leader scoffs. His eyes however flash nervously behind that self assured smirk.

“They will be taken away.” Allister whispers. Fiddles with the ribbons on his socks. “But what is taken will be returned. Love encapsulates. Love brings home that which is stolen.” He then cocks his head, realises everyone is staring at him like he’s gone mad. In actual fact, he hasn’t been speaking with his own voice at all. And when prompted, they tell him he’d spoken instead with the voice of a fully-grown man.

Another party trick, Bede tells himself, absolutely not tempted to make a run for it, screaming. He goes back to staring at the door.

Allister jumps when he feels Marnie bump his shoulder, having just budged up closer to him on the bench they share.

* * *

“The court takes into account your countless years of charity work, donations to good causes, and your spotless criminal record. And the fact you handed yourself into the authorities immediately after the event.” The judge’s face softens. “Your history of mental illness is also taken into account.”

Piers wants to scream. They didn’t have to phrase it like that. Didn’t have to hammer another nail into Rose’s coffin because the papers will be doing that tomorrow anyway.

He can see it now. Rose’s private history of anxiety splashed over the front pages while columnists with no shame, and even fewer brain cells dissect and tear him apart.

After all he did for them.

Piers holds his breath, flinches when Opal lays her hand on his shoulder.

“However,”

Piers feels time stop - feels dread threaten to cover him in slimy black strings.

“No amount of do-gooding makes up for the fact the entire country was put in danger. That being said.” Opal’s hand gives Piers a squeeze.

She can read people well enough to tell the next part isn’t going to be good news. Not all of it, anyway.

“Given your display of remorse, and the fact that no one was harmed by these events, the court sentences you to a month’s community service.”

Piers relaxes. Feels tears well and spill from his eyes in relief. Rose is coming home—

“However,” Those dark tendrils are closing around Piers’ throat, “To ensure nothing like this happens again, and to further allay any fears the citizens of Galar might have of a reoccurrence,” The judge pauses for effect, the entire room deathly silent, “your Pokémon will be released into the wild area—”

“You can’t do that!” It’s Raihan who’s screaming as the journalists in the room scramble to take pictures.

He's soon being told to sit back down, or be held in contempt if he talks out of turn again. Ironic really since everyone in the gallery is holding the judge in contempt right this very moment.

Piers stares at Rose mournfully as he’s lead from the courtroom. Walks silently with Opal, Leon, and Oleana as they cross to the other side of the building to collect the kids.

Before they get to the door, Piers whispers low enough that the former chairman’s secretary is the only one to hear him.

“A loophole, Oleana. Find me a loophole.”

His voice is tired and thick with emotion. Begging.

“I’ll see what I can do.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chatter = Pokémon version of Twitter

It’s been a long day, all things considered. Dressing in his usual clothes again is a relief. Though it hasn’t been long, his waistcoat is already feeling a little looser.

Probably something to do with not having access to his favourite patisserie these past few weeks...

Rose has to sign yet more forms. Dot the i’s, and cross the t’s. He forces his face not to waver as his fingertips are pressed first into ink, and then onto paper. It’s something small, but it feels like yet another indignity — a humiliation.

_Just in case you have any bright ideas about doing this sort of thing again._

It isn’t said, but it’s implied.

Rose is more than surprised when it isn’t just Oleana who’s greeting him at the door. Piers is there; something he should’ve expected, but still it sends an overwhelming message.

He cares.

Marnie is of course by her brother’s side. For all of five seconds that is before she’s rushing the once chairman with a hug. Rose isn’t sure how to react at first, but soon returns the gesture, bleary eyed.

“You know you’re allowed to do the same, right?” Opal is whispering to the boy beside her. “You won’t burst into flames if you show a little emotion.” She adds, her eyes firmly on Bede. Bede who only tagged along from a distance to shut her up.

Not that he cares or anything.

“You know you can mind your business, harpy.” That earns a laugh from the old woman as she claps a hand on his shoulder.

Opal isn’t daft. She’d clocked that gold wristwatch making a reappearance that morning as her ward was getting ready. As he fussed with his hair, and changed his clothes three times. And told her through gritted teeth that he was “Fine, just FINE! Stop ASKING!”

Because Bede is like Opal in a lot of ways. Has a flare and pomp about him. Bede too loves to act as if he’s on the stage, his language full of flourishing prose.

But he wears his heart on his sleeve; or in this case his wrist.

She can see the young man he’ll become all too easily. A little rough around the edges but well meaning, and kind of heart.

If he’d only pull his head out of his arse for five minutes and accept his own feelings.

Then again, Opal has always loved a project.  
  


* * *

  
There’s no way Rose can go back to the penthouse. At least not right away. Before Leon left with Hop, he was warning Oleana of this; that as of late, the place was swarming with journalists and photographers. Vultures, really, but the former champion is too polite to use that term.

Rose doesn’t have the nerve to impose on Piers; he could never ask the man to give him houseroom after all he’s done to his reputation. But it’s not up for discussion. Because the moment Piers hears Oleana so much as mention booking a hotel room, he’s grabbing Rose’s bags and making his thoughts on the matter quite clear.

_You’re coming home._

“That’s... okay, isn't it?” Piers asks his sister later when they’re getting in the taxi. Marnie rolls her eyes.

“Obviously...” They don’t have the largest house, but there’s enough room. Deep down she’s hoping Rose will have some sort of influence on how tidy Piers keeps the place.

When Piers gets a minute he’s texting Oleana. It’s simply one word.

💀 _**Loophole.**_  
  


* * *

  
Days turn into weeks, and still Rose is pretending he’s ‘absolutely fine’. The worst are the moments when he’ll leave the room for a spell only to return, eyes red, and his expression even more crumpled than when he left.

Piers has had enough of waiting on Oleana. More than twenty texts, and not a single reply. Little does he know, she’s doing her best, reading through Rose’s case files, coming up with nothing, and trying all the while to keep the press from running headlines that would make one's hair fall out.

Piers is used to acting first, and thinking later. And it’s when he’s making his way out of the house that Marnie appears. Her eyes fall on the rucksack that’s full to bursting before dipping to the full sling of Dusk Balls at his waist.

“Going somewhere..?” She’s caught off guard when Piers stuffs a wad of Pokédollars in her hands. “Hush money? You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” Piers readjusts his rucksack, which makes an audible clink. Full to bursting with Pokéballs by the sound of it. “If Rose asks... just... make something up..?” Piers doesn’t wait on a reply before he’s leaving through the front door.

The Wild Area has changed since the last time he’s been here. More power spots— or are they just more active? Piers counts the years in his head. Realises it’s been at least ten since he’s properly set foot here.

With his Rotom phone, in it’s black skull print case, he checks the last confirmed sighting of each of Rose’s Pokémon.

Perrserker shouldn’t be far. Somewhere between the Dusty Bowl and the Giant’s Mirror according to someone on Chatter. He’s not sure if he should trust someone with a blank avatar, and a username comprising only of numbers; but it’s his best shot.

Luckily, there is a Perrserker milling about in this area when Piers arrives. And luckily, it must be Rose’s because it’s scampering over and making no moves to engage him in a fight. Rather, it butts it’s head against his leg, purring.

Also the bell round its neck is a dead giveaway.

It’s soon in an Ultra Ball, and tucked away safely in his rucksack.

Ferrothorn is rumoured to be under the bridge by the Nursery. When Piers finds the Pokémon, one trainer is already trying their best to catch him. Piers slinks out of sight behind the brick wall. Really, if push comes to shove and the kid catches it, Piers isn’t above releasing his Obstagoon and ‘persuading’ them into handing it over. He grabs one of the Dusk Balls at his waist, his arm already anxious to throw it.

Except mugging the kid isn’t an option for long because Ferrothorn is having none of it. Once the trainer’s last Pokémon faints, Piers watches in relief as the kid hails a taxi to the nearest Pokémon Centre.

He approaches the creature, keeping his body language as non-threatening as possible. It regards him with some curiosity. Piers edges a little closer. It’s only in this moment that he’s realising how much he resembles a lot of Rose’s Pokémon. His other half seems to have a subconscious leaning towards pointy things. Horns, thorns, tusks and claws. Piers thinks to his boots, and then the spiked up parts of his hair with a smile.

Rose has a type.

It doesn’t take a lot of persuasion to get Ferrothorn to get in a ball. Not after he’s releasing Perrserker to help smooth over any lingering doubts.

That’s two out of five.

Checking Chatter again, Escavalier is said to randomly appear in a den close to where a pair of hikers like to loiter — luckily for Piers, again close to the Nursery. There’s an Obstagoon wandering around nearby. Piers let’s his own out of its Dusk Ball to play. And waits.

When he catches sight of the steel type Pokémon, he’s quick to act, returning the bipedal badger, and running as fast as his clunky boots can carry him. Piers isn’t a fan of dynamax, so to see the creature grow so large fills him with the usual dread. That dread only grows when a handful of trainers appear with their own Pokémon to battle alongside him.

“Wow, that’s Piers..!” One of them is whispering.

“I thought he never leaves Spikemuth?” Another says.

Piers chews his lip, grimacing.

The sudden fear that one of these trainers might beat him to catching one of Rose’s Pokémon hits him like cold water.

He can’t let that happen.

And when Escavalier starts to slump after a gruelling half hour fight, Piers does the unthinkable. It’s not team battling etiquette. It’s playing dirty, and it’s risky, given the fact he can’t be sure it’ll KO the opponent.

But Piers operates best when he’s backed into a corner.

“Skuntank.” The skunk turns to look at him. Gives its trainers a nod, thinking the same thing. _“Explosion.”_

Piers smirks, ignoring the swears and yells from the strangers battling alongside him. Escavalier is now weak enough to catch; and they’re all too distracted by their own fainted Pokémon to notice.

One Pokéball does the trick, and Piers returns Skuntank to its own before sprinting his escape.

Klinklang is a piece of piss after that, once again recognising Piers, and letting itself be caught with little fuss or fanfare. Piers thinks it’s been easy up until now. That is until he rounds the corner of Hammerlock Hill and spies the last monster on his list.

That’s... going to be tricky.  
  


* * *

  
Rose tuts to himself as a rather large stain in the bath refuses to budge, despite how much elbow grease he’s putting into removing it.

Hair dye probably.

Marnie brings him cups of tea every now and then. When the entire room is spotless, save for that one stain, she points with her foot to one of the wicker boxes Piers keeps his hair products in.

”The bleach in there’ll probably shift it...”

Rose is pleased to find that it does. Though not so pleased when he’s whispering, “he uses this on his _head..?”_

How his other half still has a scalp left after routinely using such an abrasive chemical is beyond him.

The rest of the house is next on Rose’s list. It’s going to take more than his sole efforts, so he’s phoning someone he knows will make the job easier.

Oleana gives the front door a cautious rap of the knuckle before wiping the back of her hand on a tissue she’d been keeping in the other. The way Rose’s face lights up when he opens the door has her smiling.

”So, you need an expert?” She hums, holding a Pokéball aloft in her manicured hand.  
  


* * *

  
Piers isn’t nearly so confident as he was half an hour ago. He’d tried persuading the beast to come with him quietly. But the Copperajah had other ideas, chasing him around with her trunk in the air.

Piers threw countless Pokéballs, Great Balls, Ultra Balls — even a stray Dive Ball he’d grabbed and lobbed in a blind panic.

The elephant then tramples over a power spot. And it takes all of five seconds for one very big angry elephant to double— no, triple..? Piers is sure it’s almost as tall as the highest turret in Hammerlocke when it finally stops growing.

**“Shit.”**   
  


* * *

  
Rose is on his third gin and tonic — minus the tonic — when Oleana’s Garbodor eats the last of the rubbish bags.

And it’s when his tired body hits the sofa that the sound of a mug shattering against tiled flooring rings out.

Rose is already fussing when he enters the kitchen, checking Marnie over to make sure she hasn’t hurt herself.

”I was just... surprised.” She mutters, while Rose cleans the floor. He empties the dustpan into Garbodor’s mouth while Marnie hands her Rotom phone to Oleana.

”Oh my...” The blonde whispers before holding the screen up for Rose to see.  
  


* * *

  
Piers is down to his last Pokémon. There’s no chance he’s about to try and use any of Rose’s; not only would it be awkward — he isn’t aware of any of their movesets.

Toxtricity thankfully knows Fire Punch, but even after a few whacks, that colossal elephant shows no signs of slowing.

He’ll have to do the unthinkable, won’t he..?

Raihan got wind of Piers’ movements long before he reached Hammerlock Hill. He’s barely ever off Chatter, so as soon as people were posting about encountering a very sour punk in the wild area, the dragon tamer began refreshing the search function every five seconds.

When Piers rocks up, practically outside his front door, Raihan gets that swell of excitement deep in his belly.

_“This is gonna go viral!”_

He’s never used the thing for its intended purpose; so Piers hopes it still works. He slides the dynamax band out of his hair, and onto his wrist. It feels foreign, but the wishing star fragment embedded into it is glowing. That’s a good sign, surely. A sign that it still works after all these years.

Piers fleetingly thinks back to the wish he’d made that day. Not long after he’d lost his parents.

_I want a family._

A star had hit the ground moments later. Piers thinks how it’s funny he’d made that wish imagining his late parents — the hole they’d left in him.

And now, even with everything so up in the air...

Rose is home. Rose is family.

Piers doesn’t notice Raihan’s Rotom phone floating around him until it’s too late. He glares at it, knowing this is streaming live because that's just his style.

Regardless, this is his last chance, and he’s not about to let this put him off.

Piers takes a deep breath. He can hear Raihan behind him probably leaning over the castle walls as he screams.

_”HE’S DOING IT! HE’S FINALLY DOING IT!”_

Piers rolls his eyes.

And dynamaxes Toxtricity.

His big beautiful dumb lizard grows, and grows, and Piers feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when all of a sudden something—

_Changes._

That horn in the middle of its head splits in two. Half of that electric mane turns from blue to yellow. It’s eyes glaze over. Frankly, the entire process is terrifying. Piers barely recognises the creature when it’s done.

The dopey face he’s used to is now far from that. Tox looks feral, on all fours and poised as if ready to pounce. Piers supposes that’s a good thing if he’s to have any chance of winning this battle.

Its only when Piers commands his Pokémon to attack that he’s noting the presence of an electric tail. And seconds later the creature pulls out a glowing guitar from thin air before bashing Rose’s Pokémon over the head with it.

Piers is more than a little surprised by how quickly he’s thawing to the idea of battling this way in the future.

Because that was the coolest thing he's ever seen.

Copperajah is a tough adversary, and really one of the hardest opponents Piers’ team has come up against. Then again, he supposes that’s to be expected. Rose was only one step away from becoming champion, after all.

Piers remembers reading about that in a magazine at the dentist’s office some years back.

And now he’s here, going against every moral leaning in a last ditch attempt at rescuing what he’s very quickly realising is his soulmate’s Pokémon.

It’s a very small world.

Even gigantamaxed, Tox is getting his arse handed to him. Piers is just glad the steel type Pokémon seems to be slowing. A few more Fire Punches, and a well timed dodge mean that Copperajah is slumping in exhaustion.

He can’t waste another second. Just a few minutes and the Pokémon might recover enough to knock his last team mate unconscious.

Piers grabs the last empty Pokéball out of his bag. Given the current situation, he’s surprised when it grows in his hand, becoming the size of a soccer ball. It’s a little too cumbersome to throw; but Piers has always been secretly good at ‘footie’.

Piers is just glad he’s wearing steel toecaps.

A grin forms on his face when the ball travels in his trademark zigzag pattern before hitting it’s mark. Piers holds his breath. The ball shakes once. His hands ball into fists, nails digging half moons into his palms. It doesn’t shake again.

But it does stop moving completely.

_”A CRITICAL CAPTURE!!!”_ Raihan’s voice screams over the battlements.

That giant Pokéball then shrinks, and clicks.

And that’s when Piers realises the last ball left — his last chance at catching Copperajah — was a Love Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it had to be a Love Ball, not only bc it’s adorable af, but Piers’ Tox is a boy, and Rose’s elephant baby is a girl uwu


End file.
